" PS 

2i54-5 

.(£b65e6! 
. 1894- 






LIBRARY OF COMGRESS. 

?SdH^ 

m^nii — (^mm¥ ^^* - 

Shelf t.(£. 6 5 C 6 

h^^4 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



A COLLECTION 



OF 



Wild Flowers 



BY 



BELLE C. WOODRUFF 



AUTHOR'S EDITION 







BUFFALO 

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 

1894 



J/^^^^-Z. 



^ 






Copyright, 1894, 
Bv BELLE C. WOODRUFF. 



Printed by C. W. Moulton, Buffalo, N. Y. 



THIS LITTLE BOOK 
IS RESPECTFULL Y DEDICA TED 
TO MY TRIED AND TRUE ERIEND, 
7 B^ 



CONTKNTPS. 

PAGE 

Wild Flowers 9 

" In the Bri_8^ht Lexicon of Youth, there is no such Word as Fail" 10 

"The Pen is Mightier than the Sword" 11 

A Morning Call 12 

Is Marriage a Failure? 13 

Twilight Musings 14 

Grandfather's Birthday 15 

Our Noble Farmer Boys 16 

Scribes at the World's Fair 18 

Work! Not Dream 19 

Labor Day 20 

Flattery Versus Honest Praise 21 

A True Hero 22 

"Just for the Sake of Being Called a Good Fellow" 23 

"The Prom. Girl" 24 

Grandfather's Christmas Dinner 25 

Two Eyes of Blue 27 

The Olden Story 28 

A Baby's Lullaby 29 

An Ideal Gentleman 30 

A Sweet Dream of My Childhood 31 

Wanted :---Men for "Office" Like the Following: 33 



6 CONTENTS. 

The Old Red Homestead 34 

Faithful Even Unto Death 36 

What's the Use of Fretting 38 

The Plain Man 39 

Grandmother's Last Christmas 40 

The Boys' Brigade 42 

The Plumed Knight is Dead 43 

'Round the Old Camp Fire 44 

He can Conquer Who Thinks he Can 46 

There is a Sunny Side 47 

A Bachelor's Love Story 48 

A Transformation Scene 49 

Friendsliij) Like the Autumn Leaves 50 

Press on, Till the Goal is Won 5^ 



WILD FLOWERS 



WILD FLOWERS. 

TN the sunny garden of nature, 
^ Let us roam 'mid Flora's bowers, 
Bask in the smiles of the fairies, 
Gather the sweet wild-flowers. 

Caress the dainty white violet, 

Its sister of varied blue. 
Inhale the sweet breath of arbutus 

Modestly hiding from view. 

Clasp in our palms the delicate ferns 

Half-hid in a carpet of moss, 
While Jack-in-the-pulpit reads his text: 

" Brethren there'll be no more frosts ! " 

Admiringly gaze on a wild-rose vine 
With its tendrils lovingly twined 

Round the green boughs of a maple tree, 
As though of one soul and mind. 



lo WILD FLOWERS. 

Then hasten all to Flora's realm, 

Improve these glorious golden hours 

In strewing the path of some sorrowing one 
With a handful of God's wild flowers. 



" IN THE BRIGHT LEXICON OF YOUTH, THERE 
IS NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL." 

SCHOOL life is over with its hopes and fears. 
Books laid aside with perhaps a few tears; 
Gone ! gone forever are those bright, happy hours, 
Laid in " Memory's Casket," w^ith a halo of flowers. 

Such grand, noble lives as we all shall lead. 
Such high aspirations in thought and deed — 
How many alas ! have dreamed their short dream. 
And found in the waking, "things are not what they seem." 

Dream on ! dear hearts be happy while you may, 
Dreams are short-lived, they come not to stay; 
The world is before you, yonder' s the goal. 
Knowledge is power ; to you wealth untold. 



' ' PEN IS MIGHTIER THA N S J VORD. " 1 1 

Let never the song-bird of faith ere depart, 
Carry ever the sweet dreams of youth in your heart ; 
Be honest ! be noble ! be steadfast ! be true ! 
Round by round, climb the ladder, the top is for you. 



"THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD." 

TTTHO sits with patience quite sublime 

^ ^ Gleaning the news from every clime, 
Who sees his papers out on time ? 
Our Editors. 

W^ho reads and writes in every tongue, 
Attends grand banquets, is always young; 
Who carries more brains than any one? 
Of course our Editors. 

Who looks at the beautiful side of life 
In romance, poesy, sin and strife, 
Whose hearts with kindness are ever rife ? 
Surely our Editors. 

W^ho takes the news in shorthand down, 
Who's a boon companion for the man about town, 
Who as shinine lights should be renowned? 
Our manly Reporters. 



12 WILD FLOWERS. 

Who has no fear of Qrhost or man, 
Can speak as well as an orator can, 
Who work their points in good shorthand ? 
Our sweet lady Reporters. 

Seek where you will you ne'er can find 
A grander set with nobler mind, 
Honest, patient, courteous, and kind; 

Our grand army of " Quill Driv^ers. 



A MORNING CALL. 

A H ! dear, I'm so very glad you've called, 
-^^"^ Be seated, and hand me your bonnet, 
I've something to tell you ; I feel appalled 

When I wonder or ponder upon it. 
You know I was lively and happy as you. 

And oh ! what a liofht heart I carried, 
But Ned's not the same, and what shall I do 

For everything's changed, since I married. 

I have a good home, and nice food to eat, 
And perhaps a plenty of dresses. 

I live in a flat on a fashionable street, 
But what I endure no one guesses ; 



/S MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 13 

For somehow I wish I was single again 

And that dear old Ned had tarried 
Ere he asked me to wed, and whispered: "when 

Are you and I to be married ? " 

Of course I know it's exceedingly wrong 

To be always discontented ; 
But then, if dear Ned had ne'er came along 

Why how could I have repented, 
And had he not entered into my life, 

His jokes I could never have parried, 
I thought 'twould be nice to be somebody's wife. 

But I've changed my mind since I married. 



IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 

TS marriage a failure ? I really don't know, 

^ Sometimes I think that perhaps it is so ; 

But then, if it is, why are girls so afraid 

To be called by this title, "a horrid old maid," 

Or why are old bachelors considered "bad taste" 

Unless they've money, which is not always the case ? 



14 WILD FLOWERS. 

Why is the widower, dear litde man, 
So quick and so ready to wed if he can ? 
Why is a widow when once she is free 
Ouite willing- again in wedlock to be ? 
Why did not Solomon decline the relation 
(If he was so wise) of sweet conjugation? 
If marriage is a failure we all must own this 
As long's there's a fair one 'twill always exist. 
Still be not in haste if Cupid should tarry, 
You might love the wrong one after you marry. 
But whate'er our experience we all must confess 
If we W'ed the right one marriage is a success. 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

I SIT in the twilight dreamily musing 
O'er the bright days of childhood, of school-life, of 
home. 
Oh ! had we the power how oft in our choosing 

We'd visit the haunts where in childhood we roamed. 

We'd visit the home by the little white schoolhouse, 
The old-fashioned flowers that grew by the door, 

Then creep to the barn where many a rude mouse 
Had made his home on the rickety floor. 



GRANDFATHER'S BIRTHDAY. 15 

Once more we would wade through our own little trout 
brook 

And laugh in wild glee as they all hurried past, 
Then to the meadow with many an outlook 

For the bright ruby berries that grow in the grass. 

We'd wander about our dear little village 

Though marked by the hands of "Old Time" and change, 
And like midnight robbers bent upon pillage 

We'd ransack each home-face and find them all strange. 

Alas ! every dear face known in our childhood 

We'd find now existed only in dreams, 
While the birth of the village had been in sweet wildwood 

Its elderly days lay in different scenes. 



GRANDFATHER'S BIRTHDAY. 

SET on the old-time punch-bowl. 
Brew its contents strong and hot. 
For grandfather is four-score years. 

And it must not be forgot. 
Though grandfather is hearty yet 

As a man of half his age. 
We know his book of life is fast 
Drawing near the last grand page. 



1 6 WILD FLOWERS. 

So fill your glasses to the brim, 

Leave not one single drop, 
For dear old grandpa's four-score years 

It must not be forgot. 
And when along the saddened past 

Fond memory seeks to roam, 
We'll brush away the tears and say. 

Grandpa's only going home. 



OUR NOBLE FARMER BOYS. 

/~\NLY a farmer boy sturdy and strong 
^-^ Drixing homeward the cattle with a gay song, 
How his young heart beats with rhythm to the tune 
For he's off to the city with uncle, in June. 

Soon he'll be leaving parents and friends. 
The old homestead with queer gable ends, 
Pause my young farmer, ere you depart, 
Think of your mother, her saddened heart. 

Look once again on that mother's tears. 
She's made your life happy for twenty years, 
Why must you go leaving mother alone. 
Seeking your fortune so far from home. 



OUR NOBLE FARMER BOYS. 17 

But where's the boy who in his own mind 
E'er thinks in the country wealth he'll find, 
The city's the only place for him. 
There he must go if honor he'd win. 

His voice trembles as he bids mother good-bye 
And — yes there is a tear-drop in his blue eye, 
But now he is off throws a kiss from his hand 
While mother thinks proudly John's a fine young man. 

Thirty long years have passed swiftly away, 

The middle-aged Congressman's now on his way 

To the dear old home he left. in his youth. 

Home of his childhood where dwell love and truth. 

Instead of the happy home-coming with pride. 
Two moss-covered Qrraves he finds on the hill-side 
Oh ! honor the tears of repentance he sheds 
As sadly he kneels by those green-curtained beds. 

We all have a lono^ino- for fortune and fame. 
But she's an exceedingly fickle old dame, 
So I'd advise most young farmers to let her alone, 
Make the dear old folks happy by staying at home. 



1 8 WILD FLOWERS. 



SCRIBES AT THE WORLD'S FAIR. 

IV /TYRIADS of Scribes have arrrived in the town, 
^^ Myraids of brains of more or less renown. 
Make way one and all for the Knights of the Pen! 
Make room World's Fair for newspaper men! 

With what beautiful themes will our papers now teem, 
How their readers at home will enjoy every scene. 
Visit the Fair with the Knights of the Pen, 
See through the eyes of our newspaper men. 

Common mortals, rare paintings, ne'er could describe; 

Not so our immortal newspaper scribe. 

Those beautiful statues imposing and grand 

Who could show off their grandeur like a newspaper man. 

Wandering through villages old and quaint, 
Representing all classes from heathen to saint, 
See the rosy-cheeked peasant of the Emerald Isle, 
Spain's highly born dame with her stately court smile. 



WORK/ NOT DREAM. 19 

The Knights of the Quill in New Haven you'll find 
In the news of the Fair are not lagging behind, 
So drink to the toast "The Scribe of our Town," 
Then we'll turn out the lights and the curtain ring down. 



WORK! NOT DREAM. 

WORK ere the daylight waneth, 
Your life is too short to rest, 
'Tis only the laggard complaineth 

That the sun has reached the west. 
Let not your courage fail you, 

Hard though your duty may seem ; 
Sloth will more often assail you, 
If o'er the sad past you dream. 

Seek out the poor who languish. 

Those lacking of earthly friends ; 
Teach them to hope in their anguish 

That to heaven prayer ascends. 
Teach them that life's not all sadness. 

Neither a burden to bear ; 
Only to some heart give gladness 

And yours will the blessing share. 



20 WILD FLOWERS. 

Don't waste life's precious moments 

In sighing o'er hopes now dead ; 
Many, alas ! are but waiting 

For work, for their daily bread. 
Then work ! while God's blessing descending, 

Will change into smiles your tears ; 
Pray ! and God's love never ending 

Shall bless your declining years. 



LABOR DAY. 

OH long indeed may this day live 
Within the hearts of all ; 
Let every man what'er his trade, 
Come forth at labor's call. 

No laey:ards are allowed to-day 
For labor ennobles man — 

Let "Capital" be proud to grasp 
Honest labor by the hand. 

Come in hope for light is dawning, 
Let all of labor's powers unite. 

Show the world that skilful labor 
Can, and will, attain any height. 



FLATTERY VERSUS HONEST PRAISE. 21 

Above the din of noisy warfare 

Let not true labor's voice be heard ; 
Let nothing mar this day of pleasure 

Though wounds within your hearts be stirred. 

Let the world see labor's noble, 

That honest labor looks for light, 
And but desires fair dealing, justice, 

A chance to live, do what is right. 

Then when your children take your places, 

Long after you have passed away. 
They'll think with pride of him who taught them 

To love and honor Labor Day. 



FLATTERY VERSUS HONEST PRAISE. 

AN honest heart loves honest praise, 
- Of this, flattery forms no part. 
For flattery comes but from the lips. 
True praise is from the heart. 

Honest praise honestly won 

Is sweet to many an ear, 
While even the most obtuse will own 

Though flattery may be dear. 



22 WILD FLOWERS. 

There's something wanting in the sound 
Of honeyed words, which fail 

To reach the depths of truth, and sense. 
And 'neath good judgment pale. 

And yet, human nature's such, 

So great's our self-esteem. 
We love him best who softly smiles 

Upon some cherished dream. 



A TRUE HERO. 

C^TTE is a hero who dares defend 

-^-^ And plead the cause of an absent friend." 
Who fearlessly will danger meet 
To trample wrong beneath his feet. 
"Who for his friend will share the blows," 
Who's ever ready to help his foes. 
Who in garments worn, can meet grand friends, 
Thinking not, the gentleman alone depends 
On what he wears, but what he is ; 
A man of whom all men can say: "his 
Word's his bond," fearlessly just. 
One of whom all men can trust. 
Though old fashioned he be, a man like this; 
WHien he's claimed by death, is the man most missed. 



"A GOOD FELLOWr 



"JUST FOR THE SAKE OF BEING CALLED A 
GOOD FELLOW." 

4^ TUST for the sake of being called a good fellow," 
J Just for the praise of men around town — 

Oh they'll smoke your cigars, and drink your old wine, 
dear, 
But they'll not lend a hand when once you are down. 

Oh, you like to be called a dashing young fellow. 

You like to be thought clever, but fast. 
You can set the boys up on the last cent you own, dear, 

But they'll bid you good-bye when they find 'tis your last. 

Just for applause from an insincere crew, dear, 
That exist on the follies of such men as you, 

Who have not a thought for aught but your purse, dear. 
Who would drop you to-morrow if too light it grew. 

You've scattered your eagles of gold 'mong them all, 
dear ; 

Aye ! you've treated the boys with a generous hand. 
But what' 11 they do when your eagles are gone, dear? 

W^hy then they'll desert you, e'en to a man. 



24 WILD FLOWERS. 

"Just for the sake of being called a good fellow," 
You've wrecked all your life in the bright flowing bowl. 

Friends wined and dined by you, do not now know you, 
"What profiteth a man if he lose his own soul." 



"THE PROM. GIRL." 

SHE'S the daintiest morsel of flesh, dears, 
That ever your eyes did behold ; 
That's why the freshmen are vexed, dears, 
For being left out in the cold. 

But never mind Freshies, you know, dears. 
That ere many years have passed. 

You can try the same course yourselves, dears, 
On some other Freshman class. 

Let the Seniors, the Sophs, and the Juniors 

Enjoy life while they are young ; 
For when they are all quite " blase," dears, 

Your pleasures will just be begun. 

So do not begrudge them their joys, dears, 
Let them wander in Arcadia awhile ; 

Their happiness will soon be gone, dears, 
Gone with the Prom. Girl's smile. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 25 

Let chivalry guide your lives, dears, 

And to the colors of Yale be true ; 
There's no color on the face of the gflobe, dears, 

That can equal your own Yale Blue. 

Bear vexations of spirit like men, dears. 

But let nothing your honor assail ; 
Be gentlemen forever and aye, dears. 

For the welfare of dear old Yale. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

TTTE'RE going down to grandpapa's 

^ ^ On Christmas day to dine, 
To meet the dear old man who holds 
His own 'gainst Father Time. 

Then draw around the festal board, 

Raise hio-h the elass that cheers, 
We'll drink to the health of the dear old man 

Who's lived o'er three-score years. 



26 WILD FLOWERS. 

Send round the choicest viands all, 

Heap up the dear man's plate, 
For grandfather is king to-day. 

And receives in royal state. 

Then bow the knee, ye subjects all, 

Give the king the right of way, 
And burn the yule-tide log for him 

On this beautiful Christmas day. 

Hold ! raise your glasses high once more 

And drink to a noble cause, 
To the cherry-cheeked man with the tiny reindeer, 

Our noble old Santa Claus. 

Then bow the head in reverence all, 

For that other Christmas day, 
When the Star of Bethlehem hovered o'er 

The place where our Saviour lay. 



TWO EVES OF BLUE. 27 



TWO EYES OF BLUE. 

I DANCED first with some friends, then you, 
Indeed with many more, 
I felt bewildered quite, you know 

Upon the ball-room floor. 
For all I saw that livelong night, 

And all I thought or knew. 
Was that your sparkling eyes were, love, 
The sweetest, darkest blue. 

But oh ! my love, the after-time 

When I found time to think, 
When on my ledger, I wrote \our name 

So daintily in ink, 
I did not think of balance sheets ; 

All that I saw or knew 
Was "one and one make two," my love. 

Two eyes of darkest blue. 

"A southern sea, a summer sky" 
" Are shades of shining blue " — 

While as an opening flower, my love, 
I always think of you. 



28 WILD FLOWERS. 

But oh ! that clay ! that day divine ! 

When I was sure, and knew 
That those dear eyes were mine, my love. 

Those eves of heavenly blue. 



THE OLDEN STORY. 

WHERE you are, the walls are gilded. 
Lined with costly pictures rare, 
Strains of soft melodious music 
Float upon the perfumed air. 
Naught doth stir the wondrous silence, 

But the moaning of the sea. 
Naught doth break the solemn stillness, 
Save perhaps one thought of me. 

Where you are, the sun shines brightly, 

Shades with purple the windows o'er, 
Till the erand armorial shadows 

Stain with beauty the marble floor. 
The faded Autumn leaves are falling, 

From the withered maple tree — 
Your voice beneath one little casement 

I hear aeain call unto me. 



A BABY'S LULLABY 29 

But where I am, dost think I'm happy ? 

'Tis long since we two bade farewell — 
And none will guess our little story 

Nor the pretty romance I could tell. 
Far away, dear, in that grand old mansion, 

Close beside the moaning sea, 
There the treasures of my heart dwell, 

Liofht, and life, and love, and thee. 



A BABY'S LULLABY. 

OWAY to and fro in your own pretty bed, 

^^ Bright are the curls on that dear sunny head, 

Those wonderful eyes of heaven's own blue. 

Oh close them, in slumber, w^hile mamma rocks you. 

chorus: 

May the fairies give to thee a wonderful charm. 

That sleeping or waking, shall guard thee from harm. 

So sleep, baby, sleep, and mother will sing, 

While the Oueen of the Fairies shall Qrifts to thee brine. 

Oh gaze on those beautiful dimpled white hands. 
Wonder not, we loyally obey love's commands. 
Those plump little limbs and tiny pink toes 
Curled daintily under oceans of clothes. 



30 WILD FLOWERS. 



chorus: 



Oh, sleep ! baby sleep! in thine own downy nest, 
While mamma hums softly her dear one to rest; 
And the angels of heaven watch o'er thee with care 
As they list to the music of the young mother's prayer. 



AN IDEAL GENTLEMAN. 

A >^OBLEMAN in all that's true, 
-^—^ Boldly brave, yet gentle too. 
Chivalrous to all womanhood — 
A heart e'er looking to others good, 
Not simply an apparition sent 
To be society's ornament. 
Nor a shapely form for linen fine. 
Neither a man with shallow mind ; 
But one whose grand though quiet mien, 
Courtesy shows to beggar or queen. 
Can grasp the horny hand of toil 
Nor fear his own white palms to soil. 
Can honor show where poverty blooms 
As well as in grand drawing-rooms. 
Charity shows for others sin, 
Rememberino- he's not faultless been. 



A SWEET DREAM OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

Thus conquering self, he nobly proves, 
In the highest circles he ever moves. 
The whole he does at God's command; 
Which crowns him as the Gentleman. 



A SWEET DREAM OF MY CHILDHOOD. 

uH^O-NIGHT I read a poem 

^ Bringing back the buried past ; 
Revealing to my vision 
The solemn truth at last." 

That this world's not the same world. 

As once it seemed to me, 
And joys are far too fleeting — 

Life is not so full of glee. 

In my dream around my hearthstone, 
Friends of childhood gathered there, 

Ere Time with his varying pencil 
Could mar that picture rare. 

I saw my dear old father. 

His dark hair streaked with gray ; 
My mother, and my sisters, 

One brother far away. 



WILD FLOWERS. 

I saw that faithful fellow, 

My dog-, a silken brown, 
As by the old stone doorstep 

He solemnly lay down. 

Again I saw his silken head 
Between his two fore-paws, 

Who at the clickinsf of the eate 
Was off to learn the cause. 

I had a charming- little bird, 

It hung outside the door. 
But oh ! 'tis sad, sometimes to think 

It's song I'll hear no more. 

W^ithin its gilded prison, 

It sung the livelong day; 
It waked us in the morning. 

We heard its song at play. 

Ah me ! how dear the pleasures 
Of our happy childhood seem; 

How innocent, how guileless, 
How like a fading dream. 

But now alas ! those happy days 

Forevermore have fled, 
Wliile in a green grave of the past. 

Lies my childhood's freedom, dead. 



WANTED!— MEN. 33 



WANTED!— MEN FOR "OFFICE" LIKE THE 
FOLLOWING. 



GIVE us Nature's noblemen, for such a time demands 
Grand and noble hearts and minds, strong and 
willing hands; 
Men who for spoils of office can not be made to lie, 
Men who possess opinions no demagogue can buy, 
Men who in public life consider honor more 
Than all the treacherous promises of a score 
Of those whose deeds are exceeding small, 
Compared to their professions so large withal. 
That wrong seems to rule, while a Nation's fears 
Bathes a sleeping justice with her tears. 



Give us honest men, who bear an honest name, 
Men who seek not office from love of pride or gain; 
Who honestly do their duty in any office they hold, 
For the welfare of their country, not for love of gold. 
Men whose partisanship consists in doing right. 
Whose spotless honor is a shining light. 



34 WILD FLOWERS. 

Take then from Nature's peerage a nobleman like this, 

Who in any crisis in forethought is not remiss, 

This is the man for office, humble though he be, 

His standard is well-doing! gold tempts not such as he. 



THE OLD RED HOMESTEAD. 

^ I ^HE old red homestead stood on a hill, 

-^ And in the sweet springtime 
It's gables were quite covered o'er 

With the morning-glory vine. 
I hear again the roses tap 

Against the window-pane; 
I see upon my neighbor's barn 

That same old weather vane. 

I see, down in the pasture lot. 

The cows knee-deep in grass, 
And through the ripened grain I watch 

The farm-hands as they pass. 
1 hear the wild dove's plaintive note 

Come floating o'er the breeze. 
And gaze upon the robin 

As he flits among the trees. 



THE OLD RED HOMESTEAD. 35 

Oh, changed indeed is all this scene, 

Long passed and gone from me 
Those dear old careless, happy years 

I nevermore shall see; 
And yet the same old hollyhocks 

All yellow, white and red, 
Stand by the dear old garden wall 

Close by the tulip bed. 

The rosy apples — sweeter now 

Than they ever were before. 
Still blush upon the orchard bough 

Just as they did of yore. 
Naught's changed but my own heart, "Oh, Time! 

Turn backward in thy flight 
And make of me a child again, 

I pray thee, for to-night." 



36 WILD FLOWERS. 



FAITHFUL EVEN UNTO DEATH. 

ONLY One of the Bravest! 
Only a fire laddie bold, 
But he's labored to do his duty by you, 
Till now he is crippled and old. 

Another will take the place 

Our fire laddie held with pride. 
But no one hears of the service of years, 

For now he must step one side. 

He can handle the pipe no more, 

No more the ladder he'll climb, 
For another face will be in the place 

That he's filled, for so long a time. 

His engine still works on. 

While he has nothing to do; 
It matters not though he be forgot, 

He'll still remain brave and true. 



FAITHFUL EVEN UNTO DEATH. 37 

Though he's labored day and night, 

Out in snow and rain, 
Never showed the white feather, but what'er the 
weather, 

Was never called on, in vain. 

Only One of the Bravest! 

But worth his weight in gold, 
For he's given his youth, best days forsooth, 

Till now he is crippled and old. 

Only One of the Bravest! 

But a fire laddie nevermore. 
The ponies he's driven, while for first place he's stiven, 

Taken from him for evermore. 

To the dark, cold grave they bear him, 

Oh, how hard is the fireman's lot! 
He's through with strife, for he's given his life, 

And all he held dear, for what? 



38 WILD FLOWERS. 



WHAT'S THE USE OF FRETTING. 

/^H, what's the use of worrying ? 
^-^ For they alone are blest, 
Who learn their will to dominate, 

Whose temper stands each test; 
Who never think of fretting 

Because they've lost a prize, 
But are ever pressing onward, 

Oh these, are the truly wise. 

Oh, what's the use of worrying? 

Be calm, in heart and nerve, 
Why fret o'er what can not be helped, 

There's strength in proud reserve; 
Don't think to rush ahead of those 

Who have more brains than you, 
But school your heart to bear all things. 

There's One who'll pull you through. 

Don't think to injure others, 

We all have faults you know, 
And preaching will not help us 

If our practice is so slow. 



THE PLAIN MAN. 39 

Then let us stop our fretting 

And join the noble throng, 
Who never raise a fuss, but strive 

To do their duty right along. 



THE PLAIN MAN. 

TTIS hands and feet are always large, 
^^ But so is his kind heart, 
He knows not how to dance or sins:. 
He has no soul for Art. 

His clothes are what is called misfit. 

His boots unpolished oft, 
But his eyes can shine with tenderness, 

Though he's far from being soft. 

Those hands though large, can do kind deeds, 

Those ungainly feet tread miles 
To give to another happiness, 

Wreathe some sad face in smiles. 

Those misfit clothes, perchance are worn 

To help a brother's need — 
At his uncouthness do not smile; 

Such a man is a friend indeed. 



40 WILD FLOWERS. 

There's many a one made beautiful, 
By the beauty of holiness, friends: 

" By weaving a web of charity, 
Gathering up the tangled ends." 

And many a jacket old and torn, 
Been worn by a nobleman grand; 

For you'll find 'tis charity, honor and truth. 
Not good clothes, that make the juaii. 



GRANDMOTHER'S LAST CHRISTMAS. 

THE Christmas tree was all aglow. 
The children's voices were heard below, 
From where grandma sat in her old arm-chair 
Watching the firelight Bicker there. 

As grandma gazed, the years backward rolled, 
And our dear grandma was no longer old; 
She saw a vision remembered well. 
As with clouds of smoke the back-log fell. 

She again was young, on her breast lay a rose. 
And beside her, the form of her lover arose, 
Who years agone, on one Christmas day 
Softly told the old story in his manly way. 



GRAND MO THER ' S LAST CHRISTMAS. 4 1 

Inside the worn hymn-book whose leaves unclosed, 

Lay, nicely pressed, one faded rose; 

A sweet smile stole o'er the wrinkled brow, 

As she inhaled from the bud that was withered now, 



Its soft, sweet fragrance. The clock rang the hour, 
As orrandma kissed softly the faded flower; 
The fire on the hearthstone slowly died out, 
The last dying embers lay scattered about. 

When on opening the door of grandma's room, 
I noticed a soft and subtle perfume, 
Which pervaded the place where grandma sat 
With the rose and the hymn-book on her lap. 

In her folded hands so tightly pressed. 
Was the Book dear grandma loved the best. 
As I started to kiss the faded cheek, 
I saw that grandma was fast asleep. 

So I laid down the slippers I'd worked for her, 
All lined inside with beautiful fur. 
Around her loved form folded her shawl, 
Placed on her stand a "remembrance from all."^ 



42 WILD FLOWERS. 

Then I softly withdrew through the open door, 
But stopping to gaze on her face once more, 
I thought in her sleep she looked strangely fair; 
So I stole softly back to the old arm-chair, 

And laid my hand on grandmother's own, 
'Twas icy cold. Her spirit had flown. 
And her eyes nevermore would unclose to see 
The pretty gifts tendered so lovingly. 

The hymn-book was placed when they laid her to rest, 
Underneath her head, with the rose on her breast; 
A smile lit her face, beautiful to behold, 
Grandma would waken in the City of Gold. 



THE BOYS' BRIGADE. 

MARCH on! ye Christian soldiers. 
To the thickest of the fight, 
Come shoulder arms for Jesus, 
Do battle for the right! 

Put on your Christian armor, 

Be ready for the fray. 
For Christ your loving Captain, 

Will lead you all to-day. 



THE PLUMED KNIGHT IS DEAD. 43 

Onward then to victory, 

In double-quick too, 
Where safe in the Heavenly kingdom 

A home is prepared for you. 

Oh! boys, at the last great roll-call, 

When Satan falls dismayed; 
In Camp Heaven, let Christ your Captain, 

See all the Boys' Brigade. 



R 



THE PLUMED KNIGHT IS DEAD. 

(on the death of HON. J. G. BLAINE). 

AISE the stars and stripes that he loved, at half-mast! 
For the greatest of statesmen has now breathed 



his last. 
A terrible sorrow our nation o'erwhelms; 
Raise the flags at half-mast in the City of Elms. 

With laurel leaves, crown the orator's brow, 
The problem of life is solved for him now; 
Brush away gently those fast-falling tears, 
A Qrreat man is dead whom a nation reveres. 



44 WILD FLOWERS. 

In his beautiful casket the great statesman lies, 
In a far brighter country he'll unclose those eyes. 
Tread ever so lightly, uncover your head, 
Wear the emblem of mourning, the " Plumed Knight " is 
dead. 

Weep not! for with touch quite sublime. 
Your woes will be healed by good Father Time. 
A noble man's life is ne'er lived in vain; 
America'll long mourn Hon. James G. Blaine. 



'ROUND THE OLD CAMP FIRE. 

(on an enter taixment of the boys' brigade). 

WE are sitting to-night, 'round our old camp fire, 
The first company of the Boys' Brigade, 
To promote Christ's kingdom is our one desire. 

For of fiofhtino^ we're not afraid. 
Many are the times we have fought for the right, 

Only winning by our Captain's aid; 
Many are the times we've put Satan to flight 
We soldiers of the Bovs' Brigade. 



'ROUND THE OLD CAMP FIRE. 45 

chorus: 

Stir the ember briorht, 
We're camping to-night, 

Camping on Heavenly ground. 
We're resting from the fight, 
For God and the right, 

Waiting^ for Christ's butjle to sound. 

We are eating old hard-tack round our camp fire, 

With our canteens just in sight; 
Of our Saviour's cause we never tire. 

For we're fiehtinor for what is rio^ht. 
Sometimes we're taken prisoners of sin. 

Sometimes falling dismayed. 
But faith in our Captain has saved everyone 

Of the I St Co. of the Boys' Brigade. 

chorus: 

Then to bayonet drill 
On Zion's Hill, 

For soon all fighting will cease. 
We're bound to win 
And fight against sin; 

We're signed for Heavenly Peace. 



46 WILD FLOWERS. 



HE CAN CONQUER WHO THINKS HE CAN. 



SUCCESS will not come by wishing-, 
But in the doing of your task, 
Don't think that prayer, unless you work, 
Will give what'er you ask. 

You can not fold your hands and sigh, 
If you'd win you must also strive; 

Success comes not if content to be 
A drone within the hive. 



Success oft' comes by trials. 
And by many a sad mistake, 

But never mind — just do your best 
And be always wide awake. 

This universe will widen 

And for you reserve a space, 

And you can ope' the door of fame 
And on the portals trace 



THERE IS A SUNNY SIDE. 47 

Your name in gilded letters, 

But don't sit down and weep; 
Neither be discouraged 

If once vanquished by defeat. 

But struggle on and upward, 

Success is for the man 
Who's bound to win a prize at last; 

He can conquer who thinks he can. 



THERE IS A SUNNY SIDE. 

TTOPE on! though clouds obscure thy way; 
^-*- Though all around be dark, 
God's sun will chase the gloom away! 

Lift burdens from thy heart. 
Hope on! though every friend should fail, 

You still can look above; 
There's One who is unchangeable, 

Who'll give you boundless love. 
Then hope and trust your Father's care, 

Though sorely you be tried, 
You'll find behind the cloud, my friend, 

There is a sunny side. 



48 WILD FLOJl'ERS. 



A BACHELOR'S LOVE STORY 

T~\0 I know that young- lady ? 
^-^ The one sitting there 
In that blue satin o-rown, 

With bluebells in her hair? 
I did, my young friend, 

But t'was some time agx). 
For from me her regard 

Was stolen, you know. 
By a man who had money; 

Who rare stories told 
How he'd deck her young beauty 

In jewels and gold. 
So she listened to him 

And threw me aside, 
And (juite soon she will be 

This wealthy man's bride. 
While I an old bachelor 

Shall always remain. 
And a pretty young maiden 

Will ne'er trust aeain. 



A TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 49 



A TRANSFORMATION SCENE. 

A CATERPILLAR called on a lovely moss rose, 
-^-^ On a beautiful summer day, 
Quoth she: "your nibbling drives me wild," 
And turned in scorn away. 

" No reason can I see at all 

Why such as you should live, 
You never aught but mischief do. 

No pleasure can you give. 

" Such horrid things should hide away." 

The caterpillar heaved a sigh, 
But a moment after this same moss rose 

Softly smiled on a butterfly. 

What would she have said, think you. 

This beautiful dainty rose. 
Had she known he was a caterpillar too 

Only dressed in finer clothes ? 



50 WILD FLOWERS. 



"Fine feathers make fine birds," no doubt, 

Among a certain few; 
But did I have my choice of each, 

I'd prefer a brain or two. 



FRIENDSHIP'S LIKE THE AUTUMN LEAVES. 

\ CARPET of daises beneath my feet 
-^-^ Stretched far before my view. 
Within the meadow the clover sweet 

And golden buttercups grew. 
I saw above me a merry band 

Of swallows homeward fly. 
And I thought of one whose unkind hand 

Had saddened my life and I. 

Amid the hedge the linnet piped, 

Its notes, alas! seemed gay 
Beside a heart that longed for right 

And justice, to hold sway. 
Through oft' since then the season's brought 

The bloom to peach and pear, 
One finds that friendship goes for naught, 

Tis simply light as air. 



PJ?£SS ON, TILL THE GOAL IS WON. 51 

The green leaves on the meadow-bough, 

Lie scattered in solemn bands, 
And Autumn in gay colors now 

Doth paint with fairy hands, 
While over all the sunbeams play, 

Framinof the earth in crold, 
While an old-time friendship broken, lay 

Like dead-leaves, gray and cold. 



PRESS ON, TILL THE GOAL IS WON. 

LIFE'S sea can not always be placid, 
'' Some tempets must ruffle the tide; 
Clouds'll come and o'ershadow the waters 

O'er which you now peacefully guide. 
Keep ever a hand on the oar, dear, 

Don't think you have done with care; 
Life-boats are wrecked near the shore, dear, 
So be ready to do and dare. 

The pathway to honor and fame 
Is not easy or smooth to your feet. 

If you seek an illustrious name 

Yon must toil throueh the cold and the heat. 



52 WILD FLOWERS. 

Disappointments are hard to endure, 
But, courage! they come to each one; 

If a prize you desire to secure 
Press on, till the goal is won. 



llllllllllll 

015 ° o 



^^ 



^ ^ 



